Last month we purchased a new vehicle that is much more gas efficient for all of the long distance traveling my spouse does. While car shopping it became quite apparent that we were not on the same wave thought. I wanted something showy and loud, he was all about engine size and fuel economy. The only thing we could agree on was that it had to have heated seats!

Because we haul lots of newspapers and booth paraphernalia, we still needed something with amble space. In the end, we bought a Chevy Equinox. The dealership that had everything we wanted was located over an hour away and somehow I ended up driving the new ride home. Now, I am NOT a good driver. I freely admit that. I think my husband’s heart skipped several beats when I almost backed the car into a pole while exiting the dealership parking lot. I couldn’t figure out how to adjust the side mirrors to my likings – so there were a few helter-skelter driving moments on the sojourn home.

My loving spouse gave me a crash course on how to get the best fuel mileage. He pointed to the RPM thingy in the dash. “It’s a 4 cylinder engine. Don’t let that RPM go past 2 because the fuel savings will go out the window.” He lost me when he pointed out the RPM thingy. I was truly amazed at that discovery. “Does my Pontiac G6 GT have one of those RPM thingies?” I asked. Now, I have had my car for 5.5 years and I never noticed that! (And for the record, yes, it does indeed have a RPM thingy!) I cautiously drove onto the interstate and made sure that I kept the RPMs down. I moved over into the slow lane and grew aggravated as everyone zoomed around me. Now, I hate being passed by other cars. I am, by definition, an aggressive driver. I can’t help myself. I mutter under my breath, which soon escalates into yelling at the other drivers and calling them all sorts of names. If I get in the left lane – I don’t just hover there like I am out for a Sunday drive. I put the pedal to the metal and make my pass and get back into the right lane.

I stewed on that ride home for ¾ of the way. My husband was ahead of me, oblivious to my frustration. I finally had enough and thought “RPMs be danged! I am getting out of Dodge.” I floored that puppy and let me tell you, it’s hard to floor a little 4-cylinder engine. I put on my turn signal and I whipped into that left lane and zoomed by my startled spouse. I watched the RPM thingy climb and climb. I averted my eyes when it went past 5. (Or was it 6 or 7 or 8?) I also stopped looking at the odometer when it went over a speed I don’t care to mention here.

My horse and buggy will be delivered next week. Hey, I’ve always wanted an 8-horse power engine…